1000 Ways to Die Harry Potter Style
by tentLIPS
Summary: This is a crossover. Between what? 1000 ways to die and Harry Potter, of course! Now put them together! Rated T for MAJOR violence. 99.999% of this story has been written by reviewers, I just typed it up.


Guess why this story is so short? Because I don't have any good ideas! Guess how I can get ideas? Why, reviews, of course! *hint, hint*

I decided to make this story not entirely focused on Harry Potter, so if you want murder Hermione by burying her under a pile of books or something, fine by me.

Also: I am NOT going to kill different Harry Potter characters 1000 times, because that would probably drive me insane. The number of reviews I get = the number of deaths in this story. (I just did math! My algebra teacher would be so proud...)

If your review is an anonymous review, I won't add your death idea to the story, just so you know. And if two reviewers have the same idea for the story, I'll just add your name next to the original reviewer.

Now...here we go! Brace yourself!

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><p>1. By <strong>SunsetRoseVSFutbolera <strong>

Peeves drifted down the silent corridor, invisible. _This place needs some noise to liven things up. It's so quiet!_

He was hit with a wave of pure genius. _I know, I'll go smash things!_

The poltergist made his way to the dungeons where he knew a room that held at least twenty old antique pianos. Lifting one up with a mental _Wingardium Leviosa _(that was basically all that he could do nowadays...anything else required too much mental effort), he sped into the hallway with the piano, cackling.

_I wonder how many Slytherins I'll wake up. Maybe I'll beat my record of fifty..._

He failed to see the blonde head pass under him just as he relinquished his hold on the levitation spell.

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><p>2. By <strong>SunsetRoseVSFutbolera<strong>

_They're such pigs, _Draco Malfoy thought to himself as he watched Crabbe and Goyle inhale their cupcakes greedily. _One of these days, they're going to die from fatness._

That gave him an idea. An evil idea, mind you - he _was _Draco Malfoy, after all. Whipping out his wand, he muttered the incantation to the choking spell that had been taught to them in charms class just two days ago.

Crabbe and Goyle began to choke. Draco grinned and chuckled to himself.

Too late, he remembered the exact words of Professor Flitwick: _Now, class, remember to _never _use this spell on others, for it can be fatal if the amount of food or drink that they have in their mouths is large enough._

Oops.

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><p>3. By <strong>TheOnlyMarauderette<strong>

Percy Weasley sighed in contentment, sinking even deeper into the prefect's bathtub.

"This is the life," he said out loud to the empty room. "No worries, no prefect duties, a hot bath, lavender-smelling bubbles..."

"And me, of course," a feminine voice added from behind him.

Percy jumped and turned around. Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the edge of the sink, watching him take a bath with a dreamy expression on her face.

"Myrtle! What are you doing here?" He gathered up a couple of purple bubbles, distinctly aware that his cheeks were bright red.

"I like redheads. Especially _sexy _ones," Myrtle told him bluntly.

Percy frowned. This was _not _good behavior, even for a ghost. "Er...that's nice, I suppose, but...could you, you know, leave?"

Myrtle shrugged. "Of course." She began drifting towards the toilet stalls, but paused and turned around. "Oh, and by the way...if you ever die, you'd be welcome to move in with me."

Percy was speechless as he heard the telltale splash of the toilet, signaling that she was, indeed, gone.

Twenty minutes later, the third-eldest Weasley of the family drowned.

Moaning Myrtle was one of the few that were happy of his demise. After all, she was the one to add a sleeping draught to the lavender bubbles.

From that day on, two ghosts haunted the girls' bathroom.

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><p>4. By <strong>psychioticcow99<strong>

Kreacher lay, alone, on his deathbed (though it was more of a closet than a bed, it still counted.)

_I know that I'm going to die, _Kreacher thought to himself logically, _so wouldn't it be appropriate to uphold the Black house-elf tradition_? _If I don't, I'll be the first to break it in nearly a hundred years. I'll be disloyal to my mistress... _Kreacher shivered at the thought. _No, I can't be disloyal to her. I have to do this. _

The house-elf sighed. _What has to be done, has to be done. I hope that someone finds my head and puts it on the Wall someday. Goodbye, cruel world._

He grabbed a nearby knife (A/N: Who keeps knives in their closets? The most Noble and Ancient House of Black, of course!) and, drawing one last breath, chopped off his own head.

Someone eventually found his head rolling around in the closet, and put it on the Wall.

It was Kreacher's last wish, after all.

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><p>5. By <strong>TSUnami3O<strong>

"Move it! If you want to make the team, you have to work for it!" The coach's voice screamed.

_What have I gotten myself into? _Hermione thought as she cradled the lacrosse stick.

Once all seven members trying out for the lacrosse team made it back to the starting line, their coach, a tall, middle-aged man with black-going-grey hair and a large bald spot in the middle of his head stood in front of them with a disgusted look on his shiny red face. "Are you all _sure _that you aren't all three years old?" He asked them, curling his lip. For a muggle, he was pretty darn scary.

They all muttered a yes. Hermione, for her part, was busy trying to look as small as possible.

She thought this would be a fun experience to do over the summer, something to spend her time while she was away from the exciting world of magic. Turns out, she was wrong.

"All right. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever set a hand on a lacrosse stick butt before, so we're going to start with something easy - picking up the ball."

Everyone groaned.

"Unfortunately, I'm going to have to pick two of you to make the team. Might as well single out the bad ones. I hope that you know how to pick up a ball, so I'm not going to waste time explaining it to you. Hope you don't impale yourself."

A couple of people laughed, as if this was funny for some reason. _Impale myself? What is he talking about? _Hermione thought wildly. _What is there to impale myself on? _

"Make two lines facing away from each other. First person in the line, cradle the ball across and drop it at the others feet. That person's gonna pick the ball up, cradle it, drop it at the others feet, and so on."

Hermione made sure to get in the back of the line. She had no idea what she was supposed to do, and decided to watch the others before trying it.

_This doesn't look too hard, _she thought as she watched the others do the exercise.

Her turn.

Unfortunately for Hermione, the person in front of her had dropped it a couple more feet out than it was supposed to be. She began running at full speed, tried to pick up the ball, snagged the lacrosse stick head on the muddy ground, went flying...

They didn't get her to the hospital in time.

Killed by a lacrosse stick - what a way to go. (A/N: I DON'T PLAY LACROSSE! I apologize if a lot of info in this story about lacrosse is WRONG.)


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